Carol held the mirror up for Enid to turn her head from side to side and admire what little was left. “All right?” She put it into Enid’s hand and went to the cupboard. There was a jangle of metal hangers as the blue dress with the scalloped collar was removed. “I’ll give it a quick iron.”

Enid laid the mirror in her lap.

“Anything else you need?” Carol was beside her, the blue dress over her arm. She reached for her stick and took Carol’s hand. No, she’d had no one. No one had held her in their arms and said, I understand. You’ve been under a terrible strain. You mustn’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Everything’s going to be all right. No one had been there for her when she’d needed help. It was no wonder she’d panicked.

Carol led her into the middle of the room. “Do you want to sit somewhere else?”

She wasn’t at all sure why she’d stood up. “I’ll sit here.” She pointed at the easy chair by the unlit grate.

Carol patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll be off, then. I’ll get this back in a jiff.” She was smiling like a clown, a fool with something to say, tight-lipped and squeezed. “We’ll be expecting your Finetta here at four as usual.” She patted her shoulder again. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

Enid felt irritation rise through her veins. Carol was always making a nonsense of life, as if it was fun. “Tell me what?”

“Only Mandy thought you might like to know, seeing as it might be a shock.” She bent towards her.

“Tell me what?” she said again, easing into the chair.

“She said last week not to say until she was here. But I can’t see it matters, and we wouldn’t want you to feel we hadn’t thought. I never knew you had a son.”

Enid looked up at her. “A what?”

“Ian.” She raised her voice and leant close, a great, planet face in a universe of ignorance. “Is that right? I expect he’s as handsome as Finetta.” She straightened up. “I’ll bring tea up with them, shall I? They’ll be here at four sharp.”

Enid tried to push herself out of her seat but got only as far as a slight lift before falling back. Her stick, hooked precariously over the armrest, fell to the floor. “Ian?”

Carol swapped the dress to her other arm and picked up the stick. “That’s what she said.”

“You mean Michael?” She must mean Finetta’s son. Stupid woman must have got confused.

“No.” She hooked it over the armrest. “Ian. She wanted it to be a surprise, but I thought, well we thought—”